


i may lack virtue

by JeanSouth



Series: UshiOi Ship Week 2016 [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:45:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanSouth/pseuds/JeanSouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 3 of UshiOi week.</p><p>Ushijima is a man who likes order and dates, and when something disrupts, it becomes part of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i may lack virtue

**Author's Note:**

> This is retroactively split for length and varying themes. Sorry for any confusion!

It's been a month to the date he captured Tooru, injured and bleeding in one of his traps near the lake.

He feels no guilt; this is, after all, his work. Catching mad wolves and protecting the town is a noble cause, one they well-compensate him for though he is paid enough in calm and quiet and foodstuffs. But this one - this one is not feral.

Instead, he is beautiful with lips as red as though they're stained with prey forever; soft brown hair rising and falling with every enthusiastic nod of his head, and sharp eyes without a hint of madness. Well, no, that falls flat of the truth. The wolf cannot be completely devoid of madness when it's a month to the date he captured Tooru, and he's still here.

Curled in Ushijima's armchair by the fire, Tooru's leg is no longer wrapped, the skin baring the faint scars of the thick, sharp metal teeth of the trap that had snapped closed on him and tried to break him. Instead, he marvels at a trinket a passing trader had pawned off on Ushijima after a rescue from a feral half-breed. It is a curious thing that moves on its own when wound up. On Tooru's flattened hand, it winds itself in circles until it wears itself out, then repeats. Likely he'll grow bored of it give another day or so, but not quite yet.

"I'm going for wood," Ushijima glances back from the door, his heavy coat belted closed at the waist, his heavy boots laced tight against the late-winter chill and ice threatening to send him flat on his back if he has the audacity to be less careful than he ought to. The axe for woodcutting sits in the corner by the door, heavy but sharp when he picks it up and dangles it at his side. Were he to sling it over his shoulder, he'd quickly find himself with a dented roof.

"I'll come along then," Tooru slides from the couch, his body seeming to melt and reappear, his clothes dropping to the floor in an unceremonious pile of fabric and buttons. His fur seems to settle more comfortably when he shakes, then pads across the rugs to nudge at Ushijima's hand with his head, begging for his fingers to scratch behind his ears. At first, Ushijima had been confused, but his fingers now find the spot easily after so many days of doing it without thinking. Under his breath, Tooru whines out a pleased noise.

"A rabbit, if you can," Ushijima says when he leaves the house and bolts the door. Tooru is a wolf, and the blood will want to hunt; best to indulge him and find dinner while he makes use of his instincts. Woodcutting, as always, turns to be a hard chore, and he forgets the errand he sent Tooru on until he returns with a snow-white rabbit, no blood on its fur. It'll sell for a pretty penny, so Ushijima lets down his axe and runs his fingers down the length of Tooru's spine, stopping near the tail to skritch at the spot that seems to send Tooru into an obedient mood.

Around them, wood is splintered on the floor in logs the right size for their modest fireplace. A chore in itself to gather it all and stow it in the shed next to them, but he does it without complaint, the bucket by the door filling up with twigs and kindling Tooru seems to fetch from every dry scrub and hidden nook. Eventually, he rubs his sore hands on his coat and tries to relax his shoulders gone tense in the cold. He, for one, doesn't have a fur coat.

"Enough," he says, unbolts the door and allows Tooru in first. He seems to head straight to the dwindling fire, casting him a pleading look. Ushijima sighs, but tosses a log on it and stokes it until it burns well and throws out enough heat to dry off even a wolf. Later, he averts his eyes when Tooru seems to melt again - this time into a man kneeling on the rug before his fireplace, then a man slowly getting dressed in the clothing haphazardly tailored from Ushijima's youth that are just a slight too small for him, but perfect for Tooru.

"We seem to have plenty now," Tooru says, and suddenly seems to have situated himself on the same settee as Ushijima, too close in that way he'd always imagined wolves to be comfortably intimate, but had never imagined himself to be party to. His arm heats up, his shoulder, but it isn't an unpleasant thing.

He shifts anyway, but halfway through dislodging Tooru, his mind whispers to him to think better of it, so instead he raises his arm and lets Tooru settle more comfortable against his chest. He's rewarded with an almost-purr, and warmth curls unfamiliar in his chest.

After all, it's a month to the date he captured Tooru. He's still learning.

Then, it becomes two months to the date he captured Tooru, and Tooru acts oddly. He shies away from the outside world, hunts no rabbit and no deer, and seems to find chill even in a heated house, living within a cocoon of a heavy woven sheets of wool, close to the fireplace. His appetite seems shot, his mood dulled by the sharp edge of whatever malady has taken him.

So Ushijima does what he thinks is in no way smart, and seeks out a neighbouring pack. His chest curls in worry at leaving from dawn till dusk, but there is nothing for it. Delayed wolfsbane poisoning, a virus, scarlet fever - any option is viable, but no healer would treat a wolf without protest.

When he arrives, wolves surround him, their noses pressing to his trousers to try to mark which wolf he is, what pack he is from. With a start, he realizes they smell Tooru and think him wolf too.

"I come to bargain," he says instead, voice carrying to the clearing, and tosses down the myriad useless gifts left by merchants and mothers grateful for his protection. The pack leader, large and bulky, nuzzles at the bag tossed to the floor by Ushijima for traps or lies. Eventually, he seems satisfied and changes; naked as the day the man was born. He is an impressive man, tall and muscled, and slightly furred - but Ushijima feels no need to avert his eyes.

"What do you bargain for?" the alpha asks him, approaching as the sea of wolves parts for him.

"Information," he says only, and follows the way led to him.

By afternoon, he leaves with cheeks not hot but his heart tight and constricted. Only when he approaches their cabin again do his cheeks seem to heat, burning from jaw to eyes, making him want to shed his coat despite the chill air. Heat. He'd known about... heat. He had not been prepared.

When he unbolts the door, the room seems stifling, so he strips his coat, strips his boots, and glances at the sleeping pile of blankets close by. He gets so far as chopped winter vegetables and a cut of meat from the village butcher's before Tooru wakes, announced by a groan and a stretch, then - then, dead silence. Unlike usual. When he turns, the wolf-sharp eyes seem like a razor rather than a knife, fixed solely on Ushijima, on his chest, then his calves, then his eyes again.

"You smell like wolf," he says, an accusing lilt to the tone.

"Yes," Ushijima starts, but does not finish, because Tooru rears up, the blanket dropping from his shoulders to reveal his stark naked body. He bares scars here and then, standing out soft and white against his skin in tantilizing, seductive patterns Ushijima can see himself tracing to pass the time, listening to the tales behind each in Tooru's soothing, ever-cheerful voice. His thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind when Tooru's tongue passes his lips, taking advantage of his passive nature to plunge within him and taste for the fresh herbs Ushijima loves the taste of when he travels.

His hands lift, but hesitate to grab at Tooru's nude shoulders, then it is too late; Tooru breaks from him and turns to pull him through the doorway to the bedroom Ushijima has until now slept in alone; the space feels private and sacred, but not defiled by Tooru's shroud of lust that seems to envelop him. He can't find a protest in him when he sits heavy upon the sheets and allows his shirt to come off with torn buttons shredded by sharp claws. He tilts his head back and gasps when teeth nip at his collarbone frantically, a chill appearing and running itself down his spine when Tooru inhales deeply, then grips Ushijima tightly by the wrists and doesn't think - just bites.

Tooru groans around the taste of Ushijima's flesh, pushing away to lap at the blood trickling from the tiny wounds. They sting, almost hurt, but the healing quality of Tooru's rough tongue soothes the bite of it. It sends a shiver through him - he knows enough about wolves to know how they claim, but he hadn't thought that a human would suit. Nothing about either of them suits to the world they were dropped in to, though, he thinks as he himself of his morality and protests, letting bites bruise the skin of his chest, trailing from his sternum down to his obliques, Tooru licking down the path of his muscles until he nips at Ushijima's side, making him jerk away and upwards, drawing the eye to the taut fabric of his breeches.

"Tooru," he tries before the fabric is pulled away, Tooru lost in the lust-filled haze of animalistic instincts that seem to scream a need to claim as he descends between Ushijima's legs, trying to devour his sex with tongue and pressure and fingers pressing inside him to fill and stretch and spread until he is panting, legs carelessly splayed apart to allow Tooru access and an opportunity to hitch them further onto the bed and mount him, sliding home and thrusting with a mad abandon that hits a pleasurable place inside Ushijima on unexpected strokes, the pleasure swelling in time with the knot in Tooru's cock, the thrusts becoming shallower as it links them together until the pressure builds too steep and too powerful inside him and he comes over himself, glistening white over the bruises starting to form on his stomach. He almost feels the pressure increase when Tooru goes still, spilling his seed in Ushijima and locking it in with the connection between their bodies.

His head seems to clear as he leans forward, not too heavy when he only half lays on Ushijima's chest, fingers connecting the trail his mouth had taken before.

"I'm sorry," Tooru tells him, a few days past two months to the date Ushijima captured him. No days to the date Tooru captured him in return, but at least he can pinpoint it. "I consider you mine."

The words break into his reverie and the thoughts of their coupling, the thoughts of his own first coupling, followed by Tooru's teeth worrying gentle at the skin where he'd bitten, where the marks stand out sharp and red and soon to heal. Ushijima won't change; he has no pre-disposition, or he'd be changed six times over from grapples with ferals.

"I consider you pack, but equal," Tooru tells the marks until he pauses to bathe them again with his tongue, seeming to try to heal them. "Another alpha with me. When you smelled of foreign alpha, in this state of mine where the scent of you already played havoc on my senses..."

The classification ought to bother him, to be transplanted to another species, but it soothes what he supposes is the wolf in every soul that begs to claim and be claimed. Instead, he raises an arm like he has so many times on the settee, and feels the familiar shape fitting into the crook of his elbow. He... likes returning home to another, hunting with another, but it's not so simple: had he liked company, he would not have moved away from those who grew around him.

So, he must like returning home to Tooru, hunting with Tooru, and perhaps it is so simple when he considers what he will make them for dinner, and whether Tooru will like another automaton to see wander of its own devices.

"Then we are pack," he says, and his bite mark seems to tingle with a pleasant warmth.


End file.
